


Break My Heart All Over Again

by xxCat1989xx



Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Angst, Heartbreak, M/M, Not Happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 22:05:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10773387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxCat1989xx/pseuds/xxCat1989xx
Summary: Scott wants Mitch to be happy.





	Break My Heart All Over Again

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't a happy fic. I won't be mad if you don't read it.
> 
> I DO HAVE A FLUFFIER FIC FINISHED THAT I'M WAITING TO BE EDITED.
> 
> Not edited, I just want it gone from my mind.
> 
> Don't hate me, please. <3

Scott can remember the first time he saw Mitch after it happened.

It’s barely been a week since he left, but Mitch is banging on the door demanding that Scott let him in. He needs to talk to him, they need to sort this out and he isn’t leaving until it is, shouting at him through the wooden door.

He’s sitting on their sofa, blankets pulled up around his shoulders, rocking backwards and forwards as memories grip at his stomach, the knife twisting as he recalls their first date, their first kiss, the first ‘I love you’ ever uttered from those perfect pink lips.

It feels like yesterday, it feels like years ago.

Over and over and over he’s assaulted by his mind as Mitch bangs on the door, a relentless beat that matches the throb in his head.

But Scott can’t move. Can’t even bring himself to look up from where his head is resting against his knees, arms wrapped so tight around his ankles he’s losing feeling in his feet. Mitch can use his key, still has his key Scott realises later on that day, but he’s respecting Scott’s space and not using it and Scott hates himself more for it.

It was all his fault, the forced separation. He had no one but himself to blame for it, and yet, it’s Mitch knocking at his door, not the other way round. If that isn’t the most painful thing ever. Mitch has always been chasing after Scott. Always the one to initiate, to plan dates, to do anything for them. And this was no different. Chasing after Scott, even after he told Scott he couldn’t live like that anymore.

It was Kirstie’s idea, Scott was told after Mitch had finally left. She’d told Mitch how broken up Scott was, how he hadn’t been eating or sleeping. Mitch thought he could save him, but nobody can save you from yourself.

The second time he saw him, he’d been innocently walking down the street one month later.

Scott’s doing better. He’s eating again, though more through necessity than an actually wanting to, and Kirstie forcing him whenever she stops by. Sleep comes in short bursts when he can’t physically open his eyes anymore, and definitely on the sofa, not their bed.

“Baby steps,” his mom said when she called. “You’ll be fine. One day at a time, darling. It’ll get easier.” Scott’s still waiting for the ‘easier’ part to start.

He’s absentmindedly walking down the street, no real destination in mind, other than to get out of the apartment. Too many memories, too much stale air. He looks up for a moment and there Mitch is, walking towards him on the other side of the road, looking as good as he ever has. He hasn’t seen Scott, not yet, so Scott darts into the nearest shop and hides in one of the aisles until he figures it’s safe to come out.

He’s a coward. He should’ve said hello.

The third time he saw Mitch it had been six months later, and Scott was still trying to sort his life out.

All Mitch’s stuff is officially gone from the apartment, the lease changed to only Scott’s name. Kirstie had helped Mitch move the rest of it out when Scott was at work, refusing to take sides, which Scott appreciates looking back on.

He’s out grocery shopping this time, trying to decide if he does in fact like cereal, or whether he used to buy it because Mitch did. Really, he should know this kind of stuff about himself, but when you’ve relied on someone for so long, been so dependent on one another, it’s a minefield for Scott trying to find out what kind of person he is alone.

He’s perusing his choices when a shadow appears on the shelf in front of him.

Scott turns, dropping the box he’s holding in alarm when his eyes lock with Mitch’s.

“Fuck, hi,” Scott says, stooping down to pick it back up, placing it on a random shelf behind him.

“Hi,” Mitch replies, brushing his bangs out of his eyes. Scott remembers when he used to do that for him. He swallows nervously and clenches his hands into fists at his sides to stop him from reaching out.

“Hi.”

“You said that.”

Scott groans at his stupidity. “I know, I’m sorry. How- how are you?”

“I’m good, thank you. How are you?”

“I’m good.”

“Good.”

The conversation halts and Scott doesn’t know what to say next. He anxiously looks around the aisle, trying to focus on something other than the person he never expected to see again. And yet, there he is, stood right in front of him like Scott had wished for him to appear.

“How’s work?” Mitch asks, biting his bottom lip.

“Fine. Busy. You?”

“Yeah, fine, yeah.” Scott hates how awkward they are. Like complete strangers that met once or twice in the past, not two people who shared a space, a bed, a home. Scott swallows against the lump in his throat.

“Well, I need to go. Avi is coming over for dinner later and I need to grab beer for him. But it was really great to see you.” Mitch pats him on the arm, making goosebumps appear underneath Scott’s jacket before he turns to walk away. He spins back around when he gets to the end of the aisle. “Get the Lucky Charms. You always seemed to like those.”

He bought the Lucky Charms in the end, and a bottle of the strongest scotch they had to offer.

The fourth time Scott remembers drowning himself in shots and wine at a bar near his apartment. He’d been invited to Kirstie’s house for a dinner party. A dinner party that Mitch was also invited to. A dinner party he didn’t quite make it to in the end.

“I’m not a go-between. I love you both equally and you need to be able to be in the same room as each other,” she told him on the phone that morning. “Be here for eight.”

It’s way too soon, but Scott wants to see him. Needs to see him. Needs to know if Mitch is still missing him as much as he still misses Mitch.

He’s so agitated in the lead-up, changing a half dozen times before giving up and tossing on a flannel shirt and jeans, that he tosses back a couple of glasses of whisky before getting a cab. Driving isn’t an option, even if he hadn’t had a drink, with the way nerves are eating away at him, making his vision swim and his stomach turn uncomfortably.

The cab pulls up to Kirstie’s house a little after eight. He pays the driver and climbs out, taking slow, unsure steps up the driveway to the illuminated house in front of him. Scott hears music, hears the tinkling of glasses and people laughing through the open dining room window.

Scott stops in his tracks when he sees Mitch through that window, laughing at something someone is telling him, mouth open wide, eyes closed. The guy he’s talking to reaches a hand out and brushes it along Mitch’s shoulder before leaning closer. Scott closes his eyes and turns away, turns on his heel and walks back down the driveway, turning left at the bottom, back towards home.

He didn’t make it, the pull of an open bar on his way past had him darting in and placing his money on the counter.

Looking back, he vaguely remembers a call from Kirstie, him promising he’d try harder next time. Thought about Mitch laughing as he knocked back another shot. It’s a haze after that.

The fifth time he sees Mitch, it’s intentional.

After agreeing to meet for coffee downtown, Scott pulls open the door and steps into the building. He makes a beeline for the counter and orders a plain black coffee before going and taking a seat at a table by the window.

He can’t have been waiting more than five minutes before the door opens, bell tinkling above it and in walks Mitch. He’s wearing an oversized hoodie, skinny jeans and platform boots and Scott feels his mouth water at the sight. As Mitch looks around the room, Scott fights to contain the blush on his cheeks. When Mitch sees him, he smiles, bright and open and Scott’s heart skips a beat.

Mitch thumbs at the counter, signalling he’s going to grab a drink. Scott nods, wiping his sweaty palms on his legs, trying to remember how to speak. He hasn’t had a proper conversation with Mitch in over a year and he wonders if they’ll ever be able to be friends again.

“Hi,” Mitch says, sliding into the empty seat across from him.

Scott watches as he pours sweetener and cream into his drink before blowing on the surface and taking a sip.

“Hi,” Scott replies. His leg is bouncing up and down under the table nervously and he pushes down on it with a hand. “How are you?”

“I’m good, great, thanks. How are you?”

“I’m good, thanks. So what can I do for you? You said you had something to ask me.”

A look flashes in Mitch’s eyes, nerves, maybe, before he schools his expression back into one of happiness. It makes the hair on the back of Scott’s neck bristle. This can’t be good. He scrambles to think of what it could be - is he ill? Moving? Did he get a new job? Every scenario possible races through his mind…

“Um, I met someone. Met someone a while ago actually. His name is Jacob, and I know it’s ridiculously soon, but he’s asked me to marry him....”

...every scenario but that.

“...And I want to say yes,” Mitch finishes. He looks unsure of what Scott’s reaction is going to be. Actually scared, so Scott tries to make his face blank. No, that’s not enough. He tries to smile but he knows he won’t ever reach his eyes, can feel the corners of his mouth barely even lifting.

 _Fuck_.

Mitch is getting married.

Oh god.

“Oh, have you not said yes yet?” Scott enquires, sipping at his coffee, wishing it was something stronger.

His heart is beating double-time, he can hear his pulse in his ears. Scott can feel a headache brewing behind his eyes. Everything is too loud, the lights too bright. Sweat prickles under his shirt and fuck, is he going to be sick?

Mitch shakes his head. “I want to. But I wanted your blessing first.”

“What- why do you want my blessing?”

“Babe, I know how hard our break up was on you. And I wanted to know you were going to be okay with it. I didn’t want you hearing about it from Kirstie, or Avi, or anyone else afterwards.”

Scott’s vision swims before him, black spots at the edge.

He can’t do this. He can’t give his blessing. He can’t. No.

But Scott forces himself to really focus on Mitch. Despite the nervous body language, Mitch looks happy, content, peaceful. The lines that he used to get from being around Scott are gone, his eyes are sparkling once again, not dull and cloudy like they used to get after yet another argument. His lips aren’t bitten red and sore.

Scott swallows past the lump in his throat.

He can’t deny Mitch his chance at happiness.

Scott might be a mess, he knows this is going to set him back a few months, but he won’t ever stop wanting Mitch to be happy.

“Okay. Okay, yes. You have my blessing.”

Mitch smiles at him.

Scott feels his heart break all over again.

 

_Baby, you look happier, you do_

_I knew one day you'd fall for someone new_

_But if he breaks your heart like lovers do_

_Just know that I'll be waiting here for you…_

  * ‘Happier’ by Ed Sheeran



**Author's Note:**

> Social media links in bio.


End file.
